A Touch of Death
by lokilette
Summary: "Rarely had he ever seen a love so strong that the emotions danced so fervently before his eyes, like a touch of heaven that had broken away and fallen to Earth. Death knew what he had to do: destroy it." One-shot. Written for QLFC season 3, score: 10/10, Judge's Pick.


It was beautiful, the way their souls arced in the darkness, fractals of color bleeding into the night. Rarely had he ever seen a love so strong that the emotions danced so fervently before his eyes, like a touch of heaven that had broken away and fallen to Earth. Death knew what he had to do: destroy it.

His bones popped and clicked as he walked, the fabric of his robe whispering with the anguish of millions of souls. No one could see him. No one could ever see him. As often as he promenaded among humans, he was little more than a sigh on dying lips and a reflection in glassy eyes as they slipped between worlds. Dying was a lonely business. When it came to being alone, Death was king.

He stopped just short of where the two boys were engaged in a lively conversation. Their words rose and fell, ebullient with life, lilting with the melody of youth. Naivety and innocence were painted like artwork over their countenances. Children were such foolish creatures, and adolescents were the worst of them—young enough to believe they were immortal, old enough to pretend to know of the world.

The pair were equally fine specimens of humanity. One boy whose fire in his eyes matched the color of the hair that framed his face, the other whose head was adorned by a crown of golden curls. There was a calculated coldness about the blond that flashed like steel in his eyes, voice cutting with precision as he spoke.

"We could find them, all of three of them. If we did, we would become the Masters of Death. Think about it, Albus. Who could stop us then?"

Ah yes, the old Master-of-Death ploy. How many had tried it before? Countless souls. There was nothing more fun than playing with them, dangling immortality just outside their reach. The moment they were convinced they possessed it, he would sever their ties to life. The look on their faces was always priceless. Even Death needed a hobby.

"And if we find them, we'll have what we need to fix the world, right? We can change everything for the greater good."

The second voice was softer, hope dripping off each syllable. It was so sweet that it was almost sickening to hear, but the melody was so alluring that it commanded Death to listen. They made quite the pair, two rainbows of light in the darkness. Their auras fluctuated every few seconds, pulsating with each beat of their hearts. How he longed to reach out and touch them, letting the putrid rot of death dull the colors and, eventually, extinguish them. It was a sordid infatuation, and, for the time being, he would have to quell it.

They were different from his usual charges. They were beautiful in both mind and appearance. Arrogance and wit were always a gorgeous but deadly combination. He would overthrow them both. Of all the people who had challenged him before, Death was looking forward to this game the most. Finally, he had worthy opponents, and if he couldn't be one of them, he would relish tearing them down.

**-xxx-**

Emotions popped and sparked in the night—such a delicious display of emotions. His vulgar curiosity had drawn him there, but that wasn't his sole motivation. Someone would die.

She was very beautiful, in her own right. Ariana, the boys called her. Life ebbed around her in red, blue, and yellow tendrils like an unstable anomaly waiting to explode. He wanted her to. God, how he prayed for it, for those colors to engulf them all. She could be her own nuclear reactor. What was that Muggle city he visited every so often just to bask in all the beauty of it? Chernobyl. Yes, such perfection. That would come to be one of his favorites.

Spells shredded the night, fireworks of color against the black. He wasn't even sure what the argument was about—humans were such fickle creatures—but the boys were locked in a three-way duel. His two playthings—Albus and Gellert, he had since learned, were their names—spearheaded it, their spell-work a true testament to their wit. The third was a hot-headed oaf of a younger brother.

The real show was the way their auras danced. Anger had such a lovely way of decorating an aura in shades of purple. There was still a rope of green that spanned the distance between Albus and Gellert, a bridge of love that refused to burn. It was the sort of relationship most people spent their whole lives searching for and never found, the sort of relationship Death could never be afforded. He hated every brilliant, surging strand of it, even as he coveted it. Oh, how he wanted it. Death had a funny way of getting what he desired in the end.

He slipped a bony hand out of the confines of his robe and nudged a spell, shifting its trajectory ever-so-slightly. Well, _sometimes _death happened naturally, but every now and then it required a helping hand. He smiled as a scream erupted into the night. The spell had found its mark. Time stilled as her motionless body settled on the gray grass. The tendrils of her aura writhed like the limbs of a dying bug, and when the blackness had reached their tips, they dissipated.

The men realized the consequence of their argument, and their auras shifted through a delicious spectrum of colors. Albus rushed to his sister's side, swimming in brown fear and a sea of pale-blue regret. Gellert hung back. Death couldn't read his mind, but his emotions told a lovely tale. Blue bled into the other colors—the red envy, the pink hope...and the green. Oh yes, the green. It glowed stronger than ever, mocking him.

The bridge had been destroyed. Death took comfort, at least, in that small feat, but all he had really succeeded in doing was creating two islands of passion. Of all the sentiments in the world, love was the most infuriating. It was the only emotion Death couldn't master.

He glanced at the girl's displaced soul. It was lovely, swathed in iridescent, silver happiness and pastel pink, but it wasn't one he lusted after.

**-xxx-**

Gellert was perhaps the more fascinating of the two to follow. Much to Death's disappointment, there wasn't a whole host of work for him to do. The youth had stolen the Elder Wand with nary even a Killing Curse, overthrowing its master with a simple stunning spell. How horrendously boring. It certainly lacked the flare of the previous wizards who had claimed ownership.

The "Dark Wizard" Grindelwald, as humans called him, spared more people than he killed. Death should know; he kept a tally. Most dissenters were locked up in Nurmengard, without even Dementors to guard them. What was the fun in that? For such a "Dark Wizard," he sure left much to be desired, but as a source of intrigue, he rarely disappointed.

As Gellert's infamy grew, Death waited eagerly for the moment he knew was imminent. There was only one person who could match all that raw power. When the time came, only one person would be able to end his reign.

Death was almost giddy as the lovers stood before each other. Yes, even after all this time—a blink of an eye for him, half a lifetime for them—they still churned with passion. He had to obliterate it. Something that pure should never exist. It didn't _deserve _to exist. If he couldn't have it...

No, he wouldn't annihilate it. Death simply wanted someone to burn like that for him, but no one ever did. They either feared him or sought to control him.

It was a better show than he had ever imagined, the way their souls spoke to each other in heaving palettes of color and gasps of raw emotion. All the words they clung to but never expressed, all the times they thought of the other through the years, every whisper of a name or glimmer of concern, a whole host of regrets—everything came pouring out in a flourish of shades.

Had there ever been a duel that lasted so long? Not that Death could recall. If there was, it certainly wasn't as interesting. It was like a book that only he could read, with the tragic lovers doomed from page one. There would be no happily ever after for them.

By the end of the third hour, silent apologies were made, and forgiveness enveloped them in a shroud of blue-silver. The green that had gripped their auras for the past forty-six years spanned the distance between them. Despite all of his efforts, they bonded again. Such an irksome pair. They were hardly worth all the trouble, but Death was already caught up in the game; it was too late to quit. He wanted to understand how they constantly thwarted his meddling. He _had_ to understand it.

In an explosion of blue, green, and silver, Gellert proffered his soul and lowered his wand. Albus responded with a blaze of blue fire and swirling yellow sadness, sealing him in Nurmengard. It was the only possible outcome. If Death had a heart, he was convinced it would have shattered at the sight of the regal man trapped in that dirty, grimy hovel, withering away his splendor. He longed to reach out to him and lay a hand on his shoulder. The black would creep around the edges of his aura slowly, leeching out the color until it grayed, and eventually his heart would still, just like drifting off to an eternal sleep. It would be an act of compassion.

An iridescent, lime-green shield protected him, interwoven with pink strands that Death was almost surprised to see—hope. They burned bright, even against the darkness of his life sentence. With reluctance, Death floated out the window of Nurmengard to find another plaything to follow.

**-xxx-**

Albus was an equally interesting prospect. The scars of Death's interventions in his life were reflected in his aura, deep gouges of blue that never washed away. It was almost too easy to manipulate him.

Death had much more work with this one. There was whatever havoc remained in the wake of the Global Wizarding War, then the First Wizarding War, then the Second Wizarding War. Albus was particularly good at making wars. Oh, sure, he did little himself to actually propagate them, but he let them happen. Over and over again. Death was convinced that Gellert had broken him forever, to the point where he could no longer trust his own instincts.

But he did have the Wand, and he remained a force to be reckoned with, both when it came to wit and magic. In a surprising display of honesty, he had allowed the Cloak to slip through his fingers and back to its rightful owner. Then there was the Stone. The wizard's thoughts had flowed so swiftly when he found it that Death had difficulty reading the emotions as they whizzed past. Regret, longing, fear, regret, sadness, hope, regret.

Regret was a hard mistress to be in bed with. He had seen greater men succumb to her beguiles. It was no surprise at all when Albus slipped the ring on an old, gnarled finger. It was fascinating how quickly the curse took hold—more insidious than Death's touch and far more painful. The edges of his aura darkened and withered almost immediately. The colors surged toward it, fighting against the blackness, but it would only be a matter of time. They would succumb eventually.

This was the beginning of the end. The curtain had risen on the final act.

**-xxx-**

Death wove through the crowd that had gathered, bones rattling as he walked. He rather liked the sound. Some newly-departed souls found it intimidating, but he found it soothing.

The blue eyes watched him approach, sparkling with curiosity. Not even a trace of fear. He wasn't sure whether to be proud or whether to rectify the situation. No, he didn't want the young man to fear him. Not him, of all people, and certainly not his soulmate. He looked every bit the way Death remembered him from Godric's Hollow nearly a century ago. His soul hadn't aged a day. This would be their first official meeting.

Death stopped a few feet in front of the man.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," Albus answered.

"Do you fear me?"

"No."

Not even slight hesitation.

"Then follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"There's someone else we have to pick up, though I dare say it may be a little wait."

Albus swept his auburn hair from his face as he fell into step beside Death, his clunky walk distracting from the rhythm of the bones. It was a shame that being dead didn't make people any more graceful.

"When you say a wait, how long of a wait?" Albus asked.

"What do you care? You're dead. You've got all the time in the world now."

"That's true, but if it'll be a while, I think I should fancy a game of Wizard's Chess. Do you play?"

Wizard's Chess? Of all the ignorant demands that had ever...to insinuate that Death had nothing better to do than...just the indignity of...like he would ever consort with...

With a sigh, Death quelled all the objections that bubbled to the top of his mind. It was going to be a really long nine months.

**-xxx-**

"You son of a bitch!" Gellert exploded the moment his soul detached from his body and those steely eyes landed on Albus. "You lost the Elder Wand to some sniveling, incompetent brat whose only purpose for it was to kill a boy. A _child_, Albus, whom he failed to kill as a _baby_. And you let him have the damned thing."

"Yes, well, in my defense, I was also quite dead at the time. But I notice you didn't exactly do much to stop him from acquiring it, either."

"You took my bloody wand! What was I supposed to do? Kick him in the shin?" His golden curls bounced around his head as they argued. It was still such a lovely soul, frozen forever in youth.

Death couldn't decide whether to be elated at the prospect of finally getting rid of his chess partner, whose talent on that front far exceeded his own, or whether to be insulted by the fact that his presence went largely unnoticed. The two wizards were bathed in an eerie, green luminescence that he found calming, in some inexplicable way.

He cleared his throat and found two sets of blue eyes staring at him. Funny how that was what he had wanted all along, to be seen by somebody. _Really_ seen. There they were, letting the argument die to turn and regard him as an equal. It had been a long time, even for him, since he had the pleasure of greeting Ignotus and helping him cross to the other side. Since then, no one had regarded him that way. Their auras were warm, extending even to himself, like he was part of the fold.

"As much as I hate to break up such a touching reunion, it's time." Death paused to find the right words. He suspected that 'to rid myself of you' wasn't appropriate, regardless of how accurate it was. "For you to move on."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Albus asked.

"No. I don't get to cross over. This is a journey you have to take on your own." It had been so long since someone had showed any concern about his well-being that Death had forgotten what it felt like. They were swimming in an ocean of green and pink now, and it was warm, like standing in a fire.

Death stepped forward to open the portal, just a small break in space and time large enough for two people to walk through. The gateway itself was transparent. A slight shimmering of reality was the only thing that announced its whereabouts.

The two young men exchanged glances as they stepped in front of it.

"Would you like to hold hands as we cross over?" Albus asked. His voice betrayed nothing, but a slight tinge of brown invaded the edges of his aura.

"What?" Gellert looked at him sideways, a frown weighing down the edges of his mouth.

"I thought it might comfort you. You know, if you're afraid."

"I'm not a child, Albus. I don't need my hand held."

"Well, if you're sure."

"Quite, thank you." Gellert paused to study his companion. He, unlike Death, was unable to see the tempest of emotion that engulfed him. "You're not scared, are you?"

"Of course not. But it _is _only natural to have _some_ anxiety about what comes next, so if you needed some help—"

"I am _not_ holding your hand. Merlin, you're _a hundred and fifteen, _Albus. We'll just step together. On the count of three? One...two..."

"Three," Death grumbled peevishly as he gave them both a shove and watched their souls slip away to the other side. The greatest wizards of their time, two of the most interesting humans he had ever followed, and what do they do with their last moments on this plane? Bicker about whether or not to hold hands.

_Wizards_, he thought as he massaged his temples, generating a slight squeak as bone rubbed against bone. Still, Death had to grin. They had proved to be satisfactory playthings. No, more than that. In all the time he had remaining, however long the future would be, he doubted quite strongly that he would find any humans who would ever be able to compare.

Albus Dumbledore. Gellert Grindelwald. After all these years, they truly had become Masters of Death.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Written for the QLFC round 3: "Write about a third party interest in your OTP." My OTP, quite obviously, is Grindeldore, but oh my goodness who would be interested in joining them? Death, of course. :) It took me a while to come to the conclusion that he was the only suitable third party for such an amazing relationship. Is this hubris? Of course. But they deserve it. Lots of thanks to Gitana del Sol and Gabriel Gatsby for being the best betas ever! Also, since the Chernobyl thing has been brought up, I do see Death as able to travel through time. Because he's Death, so why _should_ the rules apply to him? He'd just find a way to break them anyway.

**Update: **This received a 10/10 and Judge's Pick for Seeker. Also, big thanks to Socii, my judge for this round, for her awesome feedback, which I hope has helped fix this up a bit more. :)


End file.
